Our Untraditional Holiday Tradition
by What You See in the Shadows
Summary: Weechester oneshot. Dean wants to treat his little brother to a traditional Thanksgiving dinner, but an order from their father leads to a hunting job that might not only ruin their holiday plans... it may just end their lives.


_**Author's Note: **Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Yes it's still two days away, but I thought I'd give you all time to read it before the holiday. _

**Our Untraditional Holiday Tradition**

Sixteen year old Dean Winchester pulled the Impala up the driveway to the two family house and cut the engine. Grinning, he got out of his car and slammed the driver's side door. Then he went around to the back and popped open the trunk. Reaching in, the teenage hunter pulled three large shopping bags out and then closed the trunk once more. A quick glance at his watch showed that it was only eight o'clock in the morning. He was right on schedule.

It was Thanksgiving Day morning and he'd run out to the local grocery store, arriving just as they'd opened at seven o'clock. He'd had to buy all the supplies he'd need for today and wanted to get it done before Sammy woke up. His brother had been sulking for weeks because Thanksgiving was coming up and they had had to move yet again. They'd just settled into this town a few days ago and Sammy had no friends here. Dean's little brother had spent the previous year's holiday with one of his classmates and had come home that night all smiles and excitement. Then, last month, one of his friends had invited him to his house for Thanksgiving but when Sammy had asked their father, he'd been told that they'd be long gone from that town by the end of November. Sammy had whined and moaned about it but Dad had made up his mind, so now here they were. And to make matters worse, their father had left yesterday to travel to a hunt in the next state and had left the boys alone for the holiday.

Dean hadn't minded too much. Sure, he'd miss his dad, but he was used to being left behind to look out for Sammy. That was pretty much the story of his life. But his little brother hadn't taken it well. And Dean couldn't stand to see the twelve year old so upset. Thus the reason that he'd woken up and left the apartment they were staying in before the sun had even come up. Sammy was definitely going to owe him for this.

"Dean, where've you been?" Sammy asked him as soon as he stepped through the door.

"Out."

"Well yeah, that's obvious. But what were you doing?"

"Getting stuff for today."

"Stuff for today? The fast food places aren't open yet."

"Which is just fine 'cause we're not doing that this year." Dean responded, placing the bags down on the kitchen counter. He was glad that Dad had rented out one side of the two-family house since they were going to be here for a while. There were several hunts in the area so their father had decided that they could live here for a bit while he traveled around to the surrounding towns. The apartment was much nicer than a motel room and had a full kitchen which Dean was about to put to good use.

"What are we going to eat?"

"Thanksgiving dinner." Dean declared.

The older Winchester pulled a large uncooked turkey from the first bag and grinned as Sammy's eye widened in surprise. From the second bag, Dean produced a box of stuffing mix, a box of instant potatoes, a jar of turkey gravy, a can of cranberry sauce, a can of green beans, a can of cream of mushroom soup, and a package of crispy fried onions. The last three items were what the hot cashier chick he'd flirted with told him he'd need to make green bean casserole. The last bag held a loaf of fresh baked bread and two pies; one apple and one pumpkin.

"You're going to make a traditional turkey dinner?"

"Yep."

"Dean, you're awesome!" Sammy exclaimed, and damn if the kid wasn't practically jumping up and down.

"Yeah, I know. Now let me get this bird in the oven so we can eat on time. It's gonna take about seven hours to cook. And I gotta stuff it first."

"You know how to do all this?"

Dean understood Sam's confusion. The last homemade turkey dinner Dean had eaten was when he was three years old and obviously didn't learn how to cook the meal at that time. But the cashier he'd spoken to, Beth or Betty or something like that, had been very knowledgeable about preparing feasts. Dean figured it would all work out.

"Sure do, Sammy."

Dean prepared the stuffing first. That wasn't hard at all. Heat some water and butter and add the seasoned dried bread pieces from the box. Stir and let sit for a few minutes. When that was done, Dean unwrapped the turkey and reached inside to extract the bag of innards that he was told was in there. Dude, this was gross. Then Dean stuffed the raw turkey with the bread stuffing he'd prepared and placed the whole thing in a large baking pan he'd found in the cabinet under the sink. He'd had to clean it first since he had no clue how long it had been down there. Then he rubbed the seasonings from the packet that had come with the turkey all over the bird and added a small amount of water to the bottom of the pan. Perfect. Dean covered it with aluminum foil and placed the heavy pan into the oven and turned it on to four hundred and fifty degrees.

With that taken car of, Dean turned his attention to the side dishes. According to the box, the instant potatoes were as easy and quick to make as the stuffing, so Dean figured he'd leave that until the turkey was almost done. The cranberry sauce just needed to be emptied out of the can into a small bowl. Dean figures he'd warm up the gravy in the microwave just before they sat down to eat and nothing had to be done to the bread. That left the green bean casserole. He'd have to stir the condensed soup with milk and then mix it into the green beans. Top it with the onions and bake for twenty minutes or so. He'd start on that shortly before he'd do the instant potatoes. In other words, he was done for the time being.

Dean poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat down on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table. Sammy was already watching the Macy's Day parade and smiled at his brother.

"I can't wait for dinner. It's going to be great."

"'Course it is. I'm cooking it, so it'll be awesome." Dean replied around a mouthful of Fruit loops.

"Hey, did you see some of these cool balloons they have this year?"

"Dude, I'm just looking forward to seeing those hot dancers in their short skirts." Dean laughed as Sam blushed. It was so easy to mess with the kid.

After they'd been watching it together for a little while, the phone rang once and then stopped. Less than a minute later it rang again. That meant it could only be one person.

"Hi, Dad." Dean greeted as he picked up the phone.

"Dean. I need you to go to the cemetery and do a salt and burn."

"Sure. Just give me the name and I'll go tonight."

"No Dean, it needs to be done now."

"Now? But Dad it's not even noon yet and…"

"Shut up and listen. This ghost kills a family every thanksgiving during their dinner. Do you really want that to happen because you're too lazy to go do this right now?"

"No, sir. I just… we always do the salt and burns at night."

"Well, not this time."

Dean took a deep breath before asking his next question. "I thought you took care of this. Wasn't that why you had to travel away from here yesterday?"

"It wasn't the right body. The ghost belongs to Christopher Jacobs and he's actually buried in the town you're in, not here. Now stop wasting time and follow my orders."

"Yes, sir." Dean replied to the dial tone.

"What's up?" Sammy questioned.

"Dad needs me to go do a salt and burn. Now."

"But Dean, what about dinner?"

"We'll be back in plenty of time for dinner."

"We? Dean, I don't wanna go. You go and I'll stay here."

"Sammy, you're coming with me."

"Why? I always have to stay in the car anyways."

"Yeah, but there's a ghost that kills people in their homes on Thanksgiving and I don't want you out of my sight until this is over."

"Fine." Sammy was now sulking and Dean wished their father hadn't called. But an order was an order and their father knew best.

Dean was glad that their father had left the Impala for him to use. Without it, it would've taken them forever to walk to the local cemetery. As he drove, he blasted his music and sung along purposefully off-key just to try and get his little brother to smile. But it wasn't working. Lately Sammy had been putting up a fight about lots of stuff related to their rather unusual lifestyle. Dean hoped Sammy grew out of the phase quickly because he was finding himself in the middle of a lot of fights between the oldest and the youngest Winchesters. Not his idea of a good time.

Dean pulled into the cemetery and parked close to the front gate.

"Stay in the car until I get back."

"I know the drill, Dean."

"Good. I'll be back soon and we can go home and eat."

Dean got out and went around to the trunk. After retrieving everything he was going to need and packing what would fit into a large duffle bag, the young hunter put a ring of salt around the Impala to protect Sammy and then waved to his little brother.

It took him only five minutes to locate the correct grave. Without hesitation, Dean took his shovel and began to dig. He'd never unearthed a casket in the daylight before and was nervous about being caught and arrested for grave desecration. But most people were in their homes getting ready to eat their turkey dinners, not out in the chilly cemetery. But this would take an hour or so tops and he'd arrive home in time to take the turkey from the oven and finish the side dishes. Then Sammy and him could dig into the delicious meal.

Dean was exhausted by the time he'd reached the coffin. This was the first time he'd had to dig one up all by himself and it was a lot more work than he'd assumed. His arm muscles burned and his back ached. It also hadn't helped that he'd not taken any breaks, not wanting to waste any time since he wanted to finish up the job and get back home with Sammy. With a grunt, Dean pulled himself out of the hole. He tossed the shovel to the ground and picked up a crowbar. Then the sixteen year old jumped back down and pried the casket open. He looked down at the old bones and clothes that were lain out in the coffin. It was time for Mr. Jacobs to say goodbye to this world. He hoped the ghost hadn't had the time to slaughter anyone this year.

Climbing back out yet again, Dean dropped the crowbar and grabbed the container of salt. He poured the condiment all over the corpse and then drenched it with accelerant. That done, Dean pulled out his disposable lighter. But before he got a chance to light it, a ghost appeared just a foot away from him.

The young hunter hurried to flick the lighter, but the small device picked that moment to not work properly. The spirit let out a wordless scream and threw Dean into a nearby tree. Dean cried out in pain as the back of his head connected with the thick trunk. He slid to the ground and laid there dazed and blinking to clear his vision. But the ghost didn't give him the opportunity to recover. It grabbed Dean by his leather jacket and dragged him across the rough ground. Dean struggled to free himself from the dead man's grip, but it was no use. He reached out to grab for the container of salt but it was just out of reach. Then the ghost threw him again. This time, Dean fell into the hole he'd just dug and landed on the corpse of his attacker. Dean let out a scream as his ankle twisted the wrong way and cracked. Climbing out of an open grave was going to be a bitch with a broken bone.

Dean searched frantically for his lighter but realized that he must've dropped it when he was attacked. He tried to get up but was hit in the face by a huge clump of soil. He gasped in surprise and went to wipe it off when more came flying into the hole. Dean heard a scraping sound and then was hit with even more dirt. Then he realized what was happening. The ghost was shoveling the dirt back into the open grave. Dean would be buried alive.

…

…_supernatural…supernatural…supernatural…supernatural…supernatural…_

…

Sam sat in the passenger side seat of the Impala and tapped his fingers impatiently against the dashboard. He couldn't believe that he'd been dragged out to a cemetery on Thanksgiving. Normal families were watching the television and preparing their feasts, but no, not the Winchesters. Every year they ate greasy takeout food and their dad drank and then passed out on the couch. Last year had been a wonderful break from their dumb tradition, with him being invited to his friend's house. Sure, she'd spent the entire day hitting on him while her parents asked questions he couldn't truthfully answer. But it had been normal. Nice. Why had he thought that he'd get to experience that again this year with his brother? But really, it wasn't Dean's fault. He knew his brother had tried, but then their father had called and screwed everything up.

Sam looked at his watch. He knew they still had plenty of time before Dean would have to take the turkey out of the oven but he was getting fidgety. What was taking Dean so long? How much time did it really take to dig up a grave and burn a body? Well, Sam wasn't going to just sit back in the car and let his day be ruined.

Sam climbed out of the car and started off in the direction he'd seen his big brother walk away in. He'd only been walking for a few minutes when he saw a figure standing by a grave and shoveling dirt. But there were two things very wrong with the situation. The first was that the person was certainly not his brother and was definitely a ghost. The second thing was that the spirit was shoveling dirt into the grave instead of digging it out.

Sam saw a container of salt lying on the ground a few feet away. He crept as quietly as he could over to the object and picked it up. He opened the top and threw half of the remaining salt on the ghost. It shrieked and vanished.

Sam looked around but could not find his brother.

"Dean? Dean, where are you?" There was no response and Sam began to panic. Could his brother be lying dead somewhere nearby. No. Not Dean. He couldn't be dead. Dean always seemed to be indestructible and there was no way a mere ghost could've done him in. But then why wasn't he here fighting the spirit. Why would he let it fill in the grave? Come to think of it, why would the spirit fill in the grave at all? Was it to protect its remains? Sam walked over to the hole in the ground to take a look.

At first, all he saw was dirt. But then he saw a boot sticking out of the soil. And not just any boot. One of the two boots that Sam saw lying on the floor every day. The boot he'd constantly pick up and scold his brother for leaving in his way. Dean's boot.

"No!" Sam jumped into the grave and began digging through the dirt with his hands. He started at the end opposite the boot, figuring that that was where his brother's head would be.

It took him no time at all until his fingers brushed through soft dark blonde hair. He quickly cleared off Dean's face. His brother's eyes were closed and he detected no breath coming out of either his mouth or nose. Completely freaked out, Sam cleaned off Dean's chest in case he needed to perform CPR. Then he tilted his older brother's head back and saw that there was some dirt caked in Dean's nose. There was nothing he could do about that at the moment. Finding that Dean was in fact not breathing, Sam started chest compressions and forcing air into his brother's mouth. Tears ran down his face, but he let out a whoop of joy when Dean began to cough.

Sam helped him sit up as the older Winchester coughed and choked and spit out a mouthful of dirty saliva. Mucus ran from his nose, clearing out the soil that had been clogging it.

Suddenly the ghost appeared right near them, but Sam grabbed the salt and threw it at the thing that had almost killed his big brother. It was gone once more.

"Dean, we need to get outta here! That was the last of the salt!"

Dean scrubbed his hands over his face and let out a moan. Then he nodded, coughed once again, and started unburying his legs. Once he was free, Dean tried to pull himself up and that's when Sam realized that something was wrong with his brother's left leg.

"Dean, what's wrong?"

"Freakin' asshole broke my ankle."

"How are you going to climb out of here?"

"I'll manage. But we gotta get you out first."

"No way, Dean."

"Not up for debate, Sammy. C'mon, I'll give you a lift."

Sam watched as Dean braced himself against the wall of dirt and offered his hand. Sam shook his head and tried to climb out on his own, but found no purchase in the loosened soil. Then Dean was there, lifting him up and grunting in pain at the action. Sam managed to pull himself out and then ran to his brother's bag. He pulled out a length of rope. Perfect.

"Dean. Wait there. I got something that'll help."

Sam tied one end to a tree and then threw the other down to his brother. He just prayed that Dean would get out of there before the ghost came back.

…

…_supernatural…supernatural…supernatural…supernatural…supernatural…_

…

Dean leaned against the wall of the opened grave and tried to get his breathing under control. Between his earlier suffocation and the great amount of pain he was currently in, the hunter felt his air coming and going in short gasps. He hoped that Sammy figured out a way to get him out of this hole. Suddenly a rope dropped down.

"Dean, here! Can you climb up?"

"Yeah." He called back. It would be difficult but he knew that there was no way little Sammy would be able to pull him out on his own.

Pulling himself up hand over hand, Dean finally managed to get above ground. He lay sprawled out on the ground, trying to catch his breath.

"Dean, you okay?"

Dean looked up and saw the ghost appear a few feet behind his brother. The older Winchester's eyes widened. Without a second thought, Dean rolled over and grabbed the salt loaded shotgun. He aimed it just past Sammy and pulled the trigger. That son of a bitch could throw Dean around all he wanted but he was not going to lay a cold, dead finger on his little brother. Sammy spun around just in time to see it disperse.

"Wow. Thanks Dean."

"Don't mention it."

Sammy walked over to him and knelt down. "You okay, Dean?"

"I will be. Find my lighter. I dropped it somewhere."

Sammy nodded and went off to look for the object. A moment later the boy ran back to Dean, lighter in hand.

"Here."

Dean snatched it and dragged himself over to the open grave that had almost become his own final resting place. With a flick, a flame sprang to life.

"Burn in Hell, you bastard." Dean stated as he dropped it in and watched the body burn.

After it was over, the young hunter struggled to his feet.

"Here Dean, you can lean on me." Sammy offered.

Dean looked down at his little brother and laughed. "Only if I get down on my knees, short stuff."

Dean grabbed the shovel and used it as a crutch as Sammy grabbed the bag and shotgun. Then they made their way back to the Impala.

Once inside, Dean leaned back in the seat and let out a deep breath that turned into a coughing fit.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. But I think I need to stop by the emergency room and get my ankle looked at. It's definitely broken."

"Okay." Sammy agreed.

Dean looked at his watch. He was certain that they'd still make it back in time for Thanksgiving dinner.

Four hours later, Dean pulled the Impala into the driveway of their current home. Sammy jumped out and grabbed the crutches from the back seat. As Dean opened his car door, his little brother handed him the supports he'd need to use to get around for the next six to eight weeks. Dean hopped up to the door and let himself in. The apartment smelled wonderful. If only the pain medication he was on didn't make him feel so nauseous.

He went right into the kitchen and opened the oven. The turkey looked perfect, a lovely golden brown color. Closing the oven door, Dean dropped one crutch so that he could use his free hand to prepare the potatoes and green bean casserole. Just then, Sam entered the room.

"What are you doing?"

"Finishing up dinner."

"Really? Why?"

"So we can eat."

"But Dean, you almost died!"

"So?"

"You're sixteen and you almost died because Dad sent you out alone on a job that was extremely dangerous. You're still having trouble catching your breath and your leg is in a cast! And you just want to sit down and have a turkey dinner?"

"Well, what do you want to do Sammy? Go hungry? I did all this for you so that you could have a nice, traditional Thanksgiving."

"Yeah well, I think today proved that we are never going to get that." Sammy yelled back at him. "I'm going to my room. You should rest that leg."

And with that, his little brother was gone.

Dean let out a stream of profanity as he angrily swept the cans and boxes off of the counter. The jar of gravy shattered, covering the tile in glass and thick brown sauce. Dean left it there as he sat down in a chair and pounded the table with his fist.

After a few minutes, the older Winchester got up and limped over to the oven. He wasn't going to let the turkey burn just because his little brother had decided that the day hadn't lived up to his expectations. He struggled to remove it from the oven and placed the pan on a pot holder he'd left on the counter. Then he shut off the oven, grabbed his crutches and made his way into the living room. Dean flopped down on the couch and closed his eyes. Within moments he was asleep thanks to a combination of exhaustion and pain meds.

Hours later, Dean awoke to someone gently shaking his arm. He opened his eyes and saw Sammy standing next to the couch.

"Hey, Dean."

"Hey."

"Sorry about earlier."

"Whatever."

"I made you something." Sammy held out a plate to Dean.

Dean took the plate and looked at its contents. He smiled as he saw a sandwich made from reheated turkey and the fresh bread he'd purchased that morning. His brother walked off only to reappear a moment later with a sandwich for himself. They both sat on the couch eating the delicious meal in silence for a few minutes. Then Sammy spoke up.

"I really appreciate what you tried to do. Sorry I acted like that, it's just… this wasn't how I wanted the day to go."

"I get it, Sammy. I'm not pissed at you."

"Yeah well, that's just 'cause you're an awesome big brother."

"Damn straight."

They finished their sandwiches and then Sammy brought in plates of pie. As Dean dug into his favorite desert, Sammy spoke again.

"Hey, Dean."

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Let's not make this a tradition, okay?"

_**Author's Note Part Two: **I hope you all enjoyed. Please take just a moment to leave a review and let me know what you think. Thanks and enjoy your holiday._


End file.
